Fic: And It Feels So Good, by acidpenguin46, blue cortina
Title: And It Feels So Good
Author: acidpenguin46
Characters: Sam, Gene, TCG, mentions of Vic
Rating: Blue Cortina/PG-13
Word Count: 745
Warnings: some violence and a few adult themes. Set immediately after 1.8.
Summary: Sam's not handling Vic's departure too well.
Disclaimer: None of it is mine, it all belongs to Kudos and the BBC.
Notes: Believe it or not, this was meant to be porn, but it ended up actually being gen. I know, I was shocked as well. The title is taken from the song “My People” by the Presets, which indirectly inspired this.
And It Feels So Good
One foot after the other. The mechanics of eating, drinking. Proper procedure, all of the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed. The safety of going through the motions. He hears voices talking, laughing, shouting, but they all rush past him, nothing sinking in. He sees the fists flying; the blood of victims, witnesses and suspects alike, and none of it fazes him. Soon enough, none of the voices that escape the grasp of his mind are directed at him, soon all he can see are sneers of disgust and the occasional worried expression. He can’t be bothered caring. He sits alone in his flat, and it doesn’t bother him. He is still stuck in 1973, and it doesn’t bother him. Whenever he hears the voices on the radio, telling he can come home, he changes the frequency. He just can’t handle caring right now.
Constant running, the only sounds in this dense silence are the snap of twigs and rustle of leaves under his feet, as one foot after another crashes through the dead debris on the ground. Intense rays of sunlight piercing the darkness, blinding him. The cold metal of the gun clenched in his hand. He sees the younger man, and immediately becomes the four-year-old child, begging for his daddy not to leave him. He just wants his dad to stay. Voices sound out from nowhere in particular, saying that this is the way home. More empty promises.
He startles awake, blinking in the dim light that the streetlamps cast through his open window. She sits on top of the television, legs crossed and clown doll in arms. “Daddy’s always let you down, don’t they,” she says. He turns away and goes back to sleep.
He hears the shouts pass him by and doesn’t react in time. He’s pushed to one side, roughly colliding with the wall lining the narrow alleyway. Face introduced sickeningly with bricks. He hears he others shouting, telling the armed blagger to surrender, he sees the looks of disgust directed at him as they run past. He looks down at his watch and sees it’s almost 5pm. They don’t need him anymore.
The door to his flat is knocked off its hinges as his DCI barges on. He barely has time to muster something akin to a reaction before a clenched fist collides with the side of his face. He lifts his own fist, wiping at the blood exploding from his split lip. The cold stickiness of the residue cakes on his hand as hands ball themselves in his leather jacket and he’s hurled against the wall. He observes the man before him, panting with pent-up fury. Green eyes staring into his own, laced with disgust and rage. He listens to his DCI whisper about he pathetic he is. How weak he is. Speckles of spit spray across his face, and he finally snaps.
His body dissolves in a manic fit of laughter, and Gene lets go of him in confusion, looking at him as though he completely insane. The laughter only doubles when he realises that he probably is. His fists begin to fly like he’s a four-year-old whose lost his favourite toy, and as he feels Gene’s fists hit back in retaliation he loses himself in the ability to actually feel something. It actually hurts when a fist connects with his stomach, so much that tears spring to his eyes, and once they start to roll down his cheeks he can’t stop. The fight leaves him as the taste of salt rolls past his parted lips and he slides down the wall, sitting in tear-ridden laughter. He’s in so much pain, and it feels so good.
Eventually he hears Gene sit down next to him and begins to calm down, his breathing slowing as he feels the re-assuring presence of his DCI right next to him. He hears the other man panting, actually hears it. Looking resolutely at the ground, he says, “thanks.”
“Yer completely bonkers Tyler.”
He looks up to see Gene looking at him and grins. “You know, I think I may actually agree with you.”
Gene shifts his gaze away and leans his head against the wall. A relaxed silence follows, and enjoys the mingled feelings of pain, sadness and happiness. He closes his eyes and smiles, as he hears Gene grunt next to him. Cracking one eye open, he turns his head slightly and looks up at his DCI.
“You got any booze?"
Author: acidpenguin46
Characters: Sam, Gene, TCG, mentions of Vic
Rating: Blue Cortina/PG-13
Word Count: 745
Warnings: some violence and a few adult themes. Set immediately after 1.8.
Summary: Sam's not handling Vic's departure too well.
Disclaimer: None of it is mine, it all belongs to Kudos and the BBC.
Notes: Believe it or not, this was meant to be porn, but it ended up actually being gen. I know, I was shocked as well. The title is taken from the song “My People” by the Presets, which indirectly inspired this.
And It Feels So Good
One foot after the other. The mechanics of eating, drinking. Proper procedure, all of the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed. The safety of going through the motions. He hears voices talking, laughing, shouting, but they all rush past him, nothing sinking in. He sees the fists flying; the blood of victims, witnesses and suspects alike, and none of it fazes him. Soon enough, none of the voices that escape the grasp of his mind are directed at him, soon all he can see are sneers of disgust and the occasional worried expression. He can’t be bothered caring. He sits alone in his flat, and it doesn’t bother him. He is still stuck in 1973, and it doesn’t bother him. Whenever he hears the voices on the radio, telling he can come home, he changes the frequency. He just can’t handle caring right now.
Constant running, the only sounds in this dense silence are the snap of twigs and rustle of leaves under his feet, as one foot after another crashes through the dead debris on the ground. Intense rays of sunlight piercing the darkness, blinding him. The cold metal of the gun clenched in his hand. He sees the younger man, and immediately becomes the four-year-old child, begging for his daddy not to leave him. He just wants his dad to stay. Voices sound out from nowhere in particular, saying that this is the way home. More empty promises.
He startles awake, blinking in the dim light that the streetlamps cast through his open window. She sits on top of the television, legs crossed and clown doll in arms. “Daddy’s always let you down, don’t they,” she says. He turns away and goes back to sleep.
He hears the shouts pass him by and doesn’t react in time. He’s pushed to one side, roughly colliding with the wall lining the narrow alleyway. Face introduced sickeningly with bricks. He hears he others shouting, telling the armed blagger to surrender, he sees the looks of disgust directed at him as they run past. He looks down at his watch and sees it’s almost 5pm. They don’t need him anymore.
The door to his flat is knocked off its hinges as his DCI barges on. He barely has time to muster something akin to a reaction before a clenched fist collides with the side of his face. He lifts his own fist, wiping at the blood exploding from his split lip. The cold stickiness of the residue cakes on his hand as hands ball themselves in his leather jacket and he’s hurled against the wall. He observes the man before him, panting with pent-up fury. Green eyes staring into his own, laced with disgust and rage. He listens to his DCI whisper about he pathetic he is. How weak he is. Speckles of spit spray across his face, and he finally snaps.
His body dissolves in a manic fit of laughter, and Gene lets go of him in confusion, looking at him as though he completely insane. The laughter only doubles when he realises that he probably is. His fists begin to fly like he’s a four-year-old whose lost his favourite toy, and as he feels Gene’s fists hit back in retaliation he loses himself in the ability to actually feel something. It actually hurts when a fist connects with his stomach, so much that tears spring to his eyes, and once they start to roll down his cheeks he can’t stop. The fight leaves him as the taste of salt rolls past his parted lips and he slides down the wall, sitting in tear-ridden laughter. He’s in so much pain, and it feels so good.
Eventually he hears Gene sit down next to him and begins to calm down, his breathing slowing as he feels the re-assuring presence of his DCI right next to him. He hears the other man panting, actually hears it. Looking resolutely at the ground, he says, “thanks.”
“Yer completely bonkers Tyler.”
He looks up to see Gene looking at him and grins. “You know, I think I may actually agree with you.”
Gene shifts his gaze away and leans his head against the wall. A relaxed silence follows, and enjoys the mingled feelings of pain, sadness and happiness. He closes his eyes and smiles, as he hears Gene grunt next to him. Cracking one eye open, he turns his head slightly and looks up at his DCI.
“You got any booze?"